


If I Let Go, Would You Catch Me?

by DoIEverForgetThePie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Daddy Issues, Destiel - Freeform, Emotional Baggage, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gay Dean, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Oral Sex, Original Character(s), Past Child Abuse, Past Relationship(s), spn au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-06-15
Packaged: 2018-04-03 20:00:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4113115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoIEverForgetThePie/pseuds/DoIEverForgetThePie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Years of living with John Winchester has terrified Dean. Even over a decade after his death, he can't put it far enough past him to let one man into his life. When Dean leaves Castiel out of fear he meets a young woman at a bar. He learns her story, and through her story he finds courage to be all he can for Castiel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Can't Let You Love Me

**Author's Note:**

> "I am the only living being that knows what it feels like to hold you in hell."

Dean had always known that fervent pleas to Castiel weren't prayers. He knew they were a far cry from being holy. Still, he slapped the word 'prayer' on his desperate calls, because asking for help seemed less shameful that way. He could justify begging if he called it prayer.

Now he and that angel he had been praying to for so long were alone. Their skin was pressing into one another's, burning with passion. They had managed to reach a state of undress that they had only ever been close to while mending their wounds. Something about it felt disgraceful. Dean had never been a shy man, but something about the almost sinful desire in Castiel's eyes filled Dean's chest up with an overwhelming sense of immodesty.

Ten years. It had been years since Dean was raised from the dead and found himself in the backwoods of Pontiac, Illinois. It was there, in that run down barn covered in every sigil Bobby had known, where he first laid eyes on Cas. He could still hear that voice _Castiel. I'm an Angel of the Lord._  He could still feel the swell of confusion inside of him, but that was only a ghost now. A distant memory from a place in time that seemed almost like a different life.

Castiel's lips were on the inside of Dean's upper thigh, kissing steadily upward. Dean couldn't lie and say he didn't want those lips to go where they were headed because he wanted it more than he wanted anything. His conscience was fighting a seemingly losing battle against his carnal instinct. Dean's hand rested on the back of Castiel's neck, and when contact was made between Castiel's lips and the most sensitive area of Dean's body, a tiny moan slipped from his mouth. He'd been to Heaven before, but this was better. His hand weaved through Cas' thick, dark brown locks as he squirmed a bit under the sensation. For a moment, Dean tried to let go and relish in the fact that the physical relationship he had longed for with Cas was underway. He opened his eyes, which had been screwed tightly shut for some time now. Castiel was looking up at him, his head bobbing up and down. The hunger and the lust that filled those perfect blue eyes suddenly overwhelmed Dean with guilt. His hand parted from Castiel's hair and fell limply on the bed. He was trying his damnedest to ignore how good everything felt as Castiel's hand slid up his torso.

  
"Cas, stop," he choked out, pushing him away a slight bit.

Cas raised up, wiping the saliva away from his mouth and giving Dean a strange look. "Did I do something wrong? Forgive me, I'm not good at this. I'm new to this," he apologized with his face crumpling, thinking he had disappointed Dean.

"No. No, it isn't you. You're great-- fantastic even, but I can't do this." Cas, who was still between Dean's legs, pulled completely away. He was devastated.

Dean got up and slipped his pants back on, and his shirt followed. He wasn't thinking much about the motions he was going through. He was thinking of the years he spent with his father's deep set homophobia. Recalling the time he got caught in a school janitorial closet on his knees. That had been the only time John Winchester had ever physically injured him out of anger. He couldn't shake the feeling of the full on blow that had landed on his jaw or the complete disgust in his father's eyes. Most of all, he couldn't shake the way Sam had sat down next to him on the hotel bed.

_'I don't know why Dad hit you, but whatever it was-- whatever you did-- it's okay.'_

"I'll be back," Dean said, picking up his keys from the bedside table. In truth he had every intention of stepping out of that door, starting up the Impala and never looking back. This moment in the dingy, one-bed motel room would fade into a bitter memory.

Cas remained silent until Dean reached the door. "You won't be back," he stated, painfully forlorn.

Dean stopped, his hand on the door handle. "You don't know that."

"No. I don't need to know, because I know _you_ , Dean."

Dean wouldn't look at the angel. Instead, he stared at his hand. He was gripping the handle so tightly that his knuckles had faded from a healthy pink to a fleshy white.

"I know that if you walk out that door it will be for good."

Dean's grip loosened. Color flooded back to his knuckles. He wanted to look at Cas, to turn and drink up that handsome face with those lovely blue eyes against tanned skin. He wanted Cas.

"Or maybe you don't," he suggested. Maybe if he turned this back onto Castiel, it would hurt him less.

"You think that I don't know you?" Castiel's voice was steadily rising. "You think after all we've been through and all we've done that I don't know every single part of you?" by the end he was shouting. He cleared the space between Dean and himself, forcing Dean to look at him.

His face was inches away from Dean's. His breath was hot and ragged with anger. "I am the only living being that knows what it feels like to hold you in hell. You don't remember. You don't know. I didn't drag you out; I carried you. I held you in my arms."

Dean stared Cas down for a moment before turning himself around and twisting the door handle to open the door. His gruff voice rang out, "I can't let you love me, Castiel."

And with that he was out the door.


	2. There's A Bar On the Edge of Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm not what you think I am."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up, there are some homophobic slurs in this chapter. I debated a long time about using them, then decided I can't write a bigoted character without going all out.

Castiel followed Dean out the door. He stood under the awning in only his trousers with his arms folded across his naked chest. "If ever you're in need, you know what to do to."

Dean didn't think the emptiness in a voice could fill him up the way Castiel's did.

"Right," he scoffed. "Those things I call prayers." Dean pulled open the driver's side door of the Impala and got behind the wheel, slamming the door shut. He stuck his head out the window and allowed himself to look directly into Castiel's hooded blue eyes. "Do yourself a favor," he spat, as he shoved the key into the ignition. "Leave me the hell alone." He could only think of pushing Castiel so far away that he would't want Dean any longer. He didn't want to be hateful; he just wanted to protect both himself and Castiel.

Castiel's jaw was set. "I'll be here when you call."

Dean dead-eyed Cas, flipped over the ignition and sped off with tires squealing against the asphalt. Dean wasn't sure if he'd call or if he'd return to the piece of himself he was preparing to leave behind with the angel half-dressed in the moonlight. The level of emotions rushing through his mind were insurmountable, but there were the ones that were always there. The ferocious ones that dug into his brain like fingers desperately clinging to the edge of a cliff. The ones that burned white hot, threatening to tear him to pieces. Anger and guilt, both bubbling away among his innards; eating at his insides. He wasn't even sure who he was supposed to be angry at anymore.

Could it be his late father?

Dean could recall a short time before he had reached the age of eight in which he idolized his father. In that time, Dean would do anything to please the only parent he had. The progression from idolization to loathing was a slow process, broken up into a series of mishaps starting around the age of twelve.

_"Maybe I'll have a boyfriend one day," Dean said as he watched the decent looking blond woman plant a kiss on the dark haired man's lips in the fuzzy movie on the motel television._

_"_ _What did you say, boy?" John's voice thundered from across the room. "Don't talk nonsense."_

_Dean had jerked his head upward, his mouth gaping. His father was pointing the silver blade he had been cleaning at the twelve-year-old._

_"Boyfriends are for women and faggots. No son of mine will be like that."_

Dean could remember the burning shame that had overcome him when his father had used that word. He was twelve years old, and he knew he was different. All the boys at every school he had ever attended would talk about girls. About the way they walked or if they ignored you it probably meant they were flirting, but Dean didn't think the same way. He was silent about his sexual deviancy for a long while after the incident with his father. Whenever he looked at another male, he forced himself to hear his father's voice say that disgusting word inside his head.

_No son of mine will be like that._

Dean had been an attractive young man. It had been easy to snag a girl with his good looks and smooth talking. He was able to push his sexuality far enough below the surface that he could make everyone aside from himself believe he was straight. It was such an ugly lie, but Dean went to bed with woman after women to be everything his father expected of him.

John Winchester had been dead for years now. He was long gone, and Dean was starting to believe anything he hadn't let go fell back on him.

Dean took a sharp turn, noticing the bar last minute. It was about one in the morning. The facility would be closing soon, but he could at least get drunk enough to take the edge off before then. He needed a good, stiff drink to wash away the taste of self-hatred.Dean pulled open the door, and the bell above it jingled; half the people in the bar turned to watch him enter. 

Dean leaned against the dark marble surface and waited for the brunette bartender to turn toward him.  
"What can I get for you, darlin'?" she asked, her country twang was like silk but Dean couldn't have cared less.

He ran his hand over his mouth and sighed. "Something strong and on the rocks," he informed her.

She nodded to him and ducked down to retrieve a few chunks of ice and a bottle half full of amber liquid. Whiskey. She made the drink quickly and pushed it across the counter to him. "You look like you've been through hell."

Dean smirked through his inner turmoil, "There and back again." He pressed his lips to the rim of the glass and took a long, slow drink. The familiar burn was just what he needed. He sat the glass back down on the counter top and licked the remaining substance from his lips. He couldn't stop imagining the woman before him serving up customer after customer, all of them lamenting over one thing or another. "You ever get tired of old saps crying to you? Telling you their tragic stories?"

A smile stretched across the pretty lady's mouth. "Not particularly. Some of 'em have some fine stories." She picked up a towel and began to wipe down the counter, but her gray eyes never left Dean. "I bet you've got a whole bundle of 'em, too."

Dean took another drink and half laughed. "Oh, you have no idea."

She made an amused sound and stopped moving the rag across the marble. "I'm Emily."

He was caught off guard by the introduction. He had been to his fair share of bars and had conversations with quite a few bartenders, but they didn't usually provide their names. "Dean," he answered back after another sip.

"You from around here?" she slipped out from behind the bar and took a seat next to Dean.

"Lawrence, actually." He laughed, "Haven't been back in that town since..." he couldn't remember at first. "Since I was twenty-six."

The bell above the door jingled. Emily stood up, "Twenty-six can't be that far behind you," she said as she moved back behind the counter.

Dean shook his head, knowing she was just trying to flatter him. It had been fourteen years since he was twenty-six and he'd aged significantly.

They continued to talk. Mostly one-sided chatter about Emily and her upbringing, with the occasional nod or word of acknowledgment from Dean. Emily served a few sporadically placed customers, but for the most part did nothing but refill Dean's drink time and time again. The crowd slowly began to dwindle, and Dean's head was swimming by closing time.

"I hate to do this, but I've gotta lock up," Emily finally said at ten minutes after three in the morning.

Dean barely heard her. The alcohol hadn't done what Dean had wanted it to; it had amplified everything tenfold and those nasty feelings were swirling around even more so.

"Dean?" Emily questioned. He could see her, but he wasn't looking. He could only mentally picture Castiel. Castiel, standing barefoot and shirtless under the awning of the hotel. Castiel, with his jaw clenched and arms folded across his chest.

_I'll be here when you call._

"Have you ever fucked something up? Fucked something up real bad? Something that could have been good?" Dean slurred.

She looked startled at Dean, but her expression quickly softened. She sat on the bar stool next to him, "Oh, honey, you're drunk."

"I think I may have walked away from the only thing good I've ever had in my life," he confessed, ignoring her pointing out the obvious fact that he was drunk.

Her brow creased, and it took a long time for her to respond. "Tell me about her. Tell me everything."

Dean stayed quiet, listening to the sound of his heart beat in his ears. Where did he start? Did he start at the beginning? Or did he start from the end? How did he tell her that she was a he?

"I'm not what you think I am."

She looked at him. She tilted her head slightly to the side. Dean felt a pang of longing course through him at her motion, as it reminded him of Castiel.

"I'm a fag, just a god damn fag."

Much to Dean's surprise she didn't flinch, it didn't even seem to phase her. Instead, she pulled Dean's jacket off the back of the chair, draped it over his shoulders and helped him to his feet. "You're comin' with me."


	3. Broken Little Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He was special. He was somethin' real special."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the chapter where I basically decided that season 10 doesn't exist and that I should alter the entire plot line of season 9. All for my fic.

Dean was slowly waking from a slumber he didn't remember falling into. His mouth was dryer than the most barren desert wasteland, his head was full of an aching pressure, and as his eyes fluttered opened he realized he hadn't a clue where he was. Just as he was nearing panic mode, a familiar voice sounded.

"Oh, good! You're awake! You've been stirrin' around for a bit, so I went ahead and made you some coffee." Emily passed Dean a plain white mug. "Hope you don't like none of that fancy stuff, like creamer and what not. All I keep is sugar."

Dean took the mug, wrapping his fingers around the warm ceramic and taking a sip. It could have easily been one of the most horrible things he had ever tasted; almost as bad as Dream Root. Even so, he tried his hardest to swallow down the bitter and slightly scorched beverage without making a face.

"I'm not so great at brewin' coffee," she admitted.

Dean sat the mug on the living room table and cleared his throat, completely ignoring her confession that the coffee was terrible. "Do you bring every drunk with a sob story home?"

"No, actually. Only you."

Dean raised an eyebrow at her. Of all the men she could have come across while working at a bar, he was probably the one with the darkest past. "You shouldn't trust strangers. That's what gets people killed."

Her eyes went slightly glassy and the corners of her mouth down turned, "Believe me when I say you're never sure when you know someone well enough."

That sent Dean's mind into a frenzy.

_I don't need to know because I know you, Dean._

"Hm," was the only way he could manage to respond.

"So," Emily said, sitting down in the well worn blue recliner next to the matching couch on which Dean sat.

"So, what?" Dean responded, dryly. He was still thinking about never knowing someone as well as you thought. She had a valid point. Maybe you never really know anyone. Perhaps there were some parts of people that weren't meant to be seen.

Emily chuckled, but there was something sad about it. "My husband would say that all the time."

"Would?" Dean wondered.

"He, um, passed away a few years back."

Dean could tell that the ache of losing him was still painfully fresh for her. To some extent he understood. He remembered the empty way he felt after Castiel was left in Purgatory. Thinking he was dead, thinking he may never get to tell the only person he had ever loved how he felt.

"I'm sorry," he finally mumbled. Dealing with someone else's grief had never been something he could easily do. "You're tough, though."

"I had help. My mom and dad. My in-laws, too. They've done more than I could have ever asked of them." She shifted nervously in her seat. "There was a," her voice faltered. "A man-- from the church. He helped us too... for awhile at least."

Dean could hear the lie in her voice, but couldn't tell what she wasn't truthful about. He couldn't deny that he was curious, though. Curious to know more about the petite brunette with eyes like a cloudy day. He wanted to understand her blind trust and her seemingly never ending kindness.

"What happened to him?" Dean wondered, not particularly expecting an answer.

"A man came into town and he left with him. I never saw the man or got to say goodbye to my friend." She sighed, "It was tough. He did so much to help out; he practically raised my daughter for the first six months of her life." She shook her head as if she was in denial that he had just up and left, "That was... oh goodness, five and a half years ago."

Dean just nodded along. Wondering what other secrets Emily had kept tucked away while she had chattered on about her past in the bar.

She looked up at Dean from where she had been staring at her hands and twiddling her thumbs. "He was special. He was somethin' real special," nostalgia laced her voice.

"I'm su--" Dean nearly jumped out of his skin in the middle of his sentence when there was a pounding on the door.

"Oh! Is it one already? My kids are home." Emily jumped to her feet; she was scrambling. "Dean, I hate to ask you to do this. Could you wait in the kitchen." She looked Dean over from head to toe. "Ya look a little scuzzy."

Dean looked down at his wrinkled white T-shirt and his well loved, holey jeans. "Right," he responded. He started to leave. "Where to?"

"Down the hall. To your left."

Dean found himself in a nondescript, pristine kitchen. As he leaned against the laminated wood counter top, he thought about the turn of events that had led to him hiding for a stranger. He could only picture Castiel again. Castiel's hooded blue eyes searing into his passionately as they pressed their mouths into one another's. He remembered the way the angel's lips felt. The warmth and the softness. The tiny raised area of the scar on his upper lip. He thought about how quickly the fire had been extinguished. How they had went from being one to Castiel standing half-dressed and bathed in the red-orange glow from the motel vacancy sign, with Dean driving off into the night.

He wondered why he had walked away. Why he hadn't been able to break the facade he'd built up for his father. What had made him so scared? Those questions were seemingly unanswerable.

"I don't want a weirdo in our house, Mom," a prepubescent voice stated from somewhere in the hallway.

"Well, you aren't the one who makes the decisions in this house, Ryan. He's having a tough time right now, and we aren't goin' to let him suffer alone. So you and your sister are goin' to go in there and introduce yourselves. Shake his hand, Ryan." Emily's voice was firm.

Eventually, Emily came into the kitchen, two children trailing behind her. "Dean, these are my kids," she pushed the boy, Ryan, toward Dean.

He was no older than twelve or thirteen with nearly black hair and eyes like an angry rainstorm. He thrust his hand out, and Dean gripped to it. "I'm Ryan," he informed him begrudgingly.

Dean simply replied, "Dean. Nice to meet you." Dean dropped the boy's hand, "Good handshake you've got there."

Ryan wiped his hand on his jeans, "Sweaty hands you've got there."

"Ryan!" Emily cried out.

Dean smirked, "It's alright. I remember when my little brother was his age. Same attitude. I guess everything sucks when you're a pre-teen." _and you've lost a parent,_ he wanted to add.

Dean felt a tug on his shirttail, "Hey?" he looked down and said to the tiny blond child at his feet.

"I'm Cass and I'm six," she said. Her voice was sweet, but it didn't stop Dean's heart from rising into his throat. He did his best to respond.

"Hey, Cass. I have a friend with that nickname. I like it." _A friend._ Dean didn't even know what to call Castiel. He was more of a lover than a friend. Less of a boyfriend than a lover.

"My momma says I'm named after a real live angel."

Emily's hand was over Cass' mouth in the blink of an eye. "She's named after an old friend, who was very good to us."

"Okay," Dean responded. That was always how he responded when he wasn't sure how else to respond.


	4. Strangers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I don't know you, Dean. I don't know you at all, not so much as your last name, but you? You have a good soul."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This serves a purpose, I promise.

"This one is my favorite," Cass exclaimed animatedly, pushing a baby doll with big green eyes into Dean's hands. "I named her Katie, because that's my best friend's name." Cass cuddled up right next to Dean, something about the child made him want to wrap her up in his arms and just be there. "And you know what?"

"What?" Dean waited for her to answer, handing the doll back to her.

Cass wrapped her little hands around the doll, leaned it back and pulled it back up so that it's eyes closed and opened. "I like her even more now because she has eyes like you"

Dean shook his head, "thanks, kid. Hey," she said to her. "I think I'm gonna go talk to your mom now, okay?" 

Cass looked sad for a brief moment, before she allowed Dean to get up.

Dean stood, trying not to think too much as to why the little girl liked him so much. He made his way down the short stretch of hall and knocked on Emily's bedroom door frame. She was inside folding clothes across her bed. The light from the sunset filtered into the room filling the surroundings with a dusty orange. 

"Hey," she greeted him as she tossed a pair of freshly folded blue jeans onto the foot of the bed.

"I just wanted to tell you that I should be heading out. I can't hang around and be a bother to your kids." He half laughed, thinking of the way Ryan had stared at him with such intense disdain for the better part of the afternoon. 

"Dean, you can stay as long as you need..." her voice trailed off as she picked up a blouse from the laundry basket at her feet. "I know this is goin' to sound stupid, but it's nice to have some adult company in this place." She wasn't folding the blouse; she was only passing it back and forth from hand to hand.

Dean rubbed the side of his neck, "Look, I'm flattered and all, but we're strangers, Em." Dean had a knack for giving people nicknames, and Emily was no exception.

"Stranger or not, you're welcome here," Emily sat the blouse back down in the laundry basket. "I'll give you a ride back to the bar. Your car is still in the parkin' lot." Her reluctance to let Dean go was obvious in the tone of her voice. Dean could tell she was lonely and starving for attention from someone other than her children and passersby in the bar.

"Thanks," he replied, slipping his hands into his pockets. 

Emily informed Ryan he needed to watch Cass. "Just an hour or so, Ryan." When Ryan opened his mouth to protest, Emily held up one finger. "I don't need your mouth today. Put on a Disney movie for her and give her some cookies. No cookin'. No leavin' for any reason. No openin' the door for strangers. Call me in you need. And if it's an emergency --"

"Call 9-1-1. I know, Mom. You give me the same run down every time you leave. I haven't burned the house down or let Cass cut off her arm yet, have I?"

Emily stiffened and let out a huff of air, "I'll make dinner when I get back."

Cass wrapped her arms around her mother's waist, "I love you, Momma." She paused, seeming to be thinking of something inside her six-year-old brain. "Momma?"

Emily knelt down, "Yes, baby?" she brushed her hand over Cass' wild blond curls as the child leaned into her to whisper something. Emily's eyes flickered up towards Dean as Cass whispered to her. "I don't know, Cass." Emily rose to her feet and hesitantly said, "She wants to hug you goodbye."

Dean went rigid, "What?" he liked kids, and Cass seemed like a sweet child, _but that name._ Before he had time to think, Cass was burying her face into the side of Dean's white T-shirt and putting her arms as far around him as she could. 

"Thank you for making my momma smile."

He stood there, patting Cass on her back, trying to remember when the greatest pleasure in life was to see someone he loved smile. The naivety of children never ceased to amaze him. 

"Please come back and visit us," she pleaded as she released Dean from her tight hug. "My brother thinks you're stupid, but me and Momma like you bunches."

Dean didn't respond because he wasn't sure how to. Instead, he forced a smile and nodded at her wondering why two-thirds of this family had taken a liking to him. 

Emily guided Cass away and settled her on the couch with a stuffed animal, Dean watched. He wondered if one day he could let go of the figurative demons in his past long enough to make a happy home with Castiel. He shook the thought away almost as soon as it entered his mind. He had to keep away from Cas, he couldn't be like that.

Emily led Dean to her maroon van. "A little bit soccer mom, isn't it?" Dean noted when they reached the car.

She giggled, "It was my husband's doin'." Her eyes flashed with sadness as the laughter in her voice faded, "He said we were goin' to have enough kids to fill this van up one day."

"Oh," Dean mumbled, pulling open the passenger's side door and making himself comfortable inside the vehicle. 

Emily climbed in, buckled her seat belt, and started the car. "Seat belt," she said, not even bothering to see if Dean was wearing his or not.

He scowled at her motherly instinct, "I don't remember the last time I've put a seat belt on in a car." 

"Well, let's make this ride one for this history books. Put your seat belt on," she looked over at him with a patronizing smile and waited for him to click the safety device into place.

The ride was quiet until they got well away from Emily's apartment complex. That was when Emily began the conversation, "You never told me about him."

"About who?" Dean asked, pretending to be oblivious to his breakdown the night before.

"Well, let us see, how did you put it? _The only good thing you've ever had in your life?_ " she kept her eyes on the roads and her hands at ten and two on the steering wheel.

Dean passed his tongue over his lips, "You remember that, huh?" he didn't want to talk about Cas. Not now, not ever again. Talking about things made them far too real. If Dean never spoke of Castiel again, it would almost be like he didn't exist. He knew that wasn't true that he could never forget the celestial being for as long as he lived, but that didn't stop him from trying. 

"You made a pretty big deal over him, hun," Emily informed Dean as she slowed to stop for a red light. She turned to him, "You need to talk about it. You keep things like that bottled up inside of you; it'll kill you."

"I feel like that's what I deserve sometimes," he muttered, not meeting her gaze.

"I don't know you, Dean. I don't know you at all, not so much as your last name, but you? You have a good soul."

The light changed, and Emily took her foot off the break and accelerated into the intersection. That's when it happened. The squealing sound of tires vainly attempting to stop, the crunching sound of metal on metal and the shattering of glass. A searing, white hot pain. Then nothing at all. 

_Seat belt_ was Dean's first thought when he was brought back in to consciousness.


	5. Seat Belts for Safety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Cas told me everything. He was upset, and I think that's putting it lightly."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what the fuck my feelings are doing anymore! :D I'm slowly dying from feels as I write this.

There is a dark place, somewhere between death and sleep. It's a familiar place for Dean, a place that almost feels like home. There's a comfort in being just gone enough for the everyday trials of life to stop hurting, but not quite gone enough to be dead. In that place, Dean could have what he wanted-- Quiet simplicity. He could live in the memories that gave him security and erase the ones that haunted him. Bask in memories of a fleeting childhood with Sam that danced like a phantom behind his eyelids. Flashes of the rare times when Dean was able to catch Cas looking lovingly at him before their feelings were openly shared. There was no room for John Winchester's hateful name calling, no room for blows to the jaw. There was certainly no room for hiding. Something always ripped Dean out of that beautiful place. Dean always woke up.

He was in a hospital bed, the steady beep the a heart monitor sounding above his head. "What the hell?" he groaned, pain invading every inch of his body. 

"Don't try to sit up, it's gonna hurt like a son of a bitch."

Dean couldn't see the owner of the voice, but he knew it well. "Why are you here, Sam?"

"Well, when Cas calls me telling me you ran off, he can't find you, and hasn't heard from you in a week I'm gonna go looking for you. Searched around the hospitals, figured you'd be in as a John Doe and here you are."

"Whoa, hang on now. A week?" 

"A week," Sam confirmed. "They said you were out cold when they airlifted you in. Broken collar bone, a fracture in your skull, and a concussion. They said you wouldn't have survived if you weren't wearing a seatbelt."

Dean's eyes drifted around the room. Seatbelt. "The person who was in the car with me, is she okay?"

Sam hung his head. "Look, Dean, they won't tell me anything about her since we aren't related. I went to visit her when they told me she was driving the vehicle that was hit, though." Sam stood up and began pacing around the room, "She's on a ventilator. I finally got a nurse to tell me it's been touch and go since they got her here."  
Dean took a heaving breath. It felt like his ribs were being pulled apart as he did so. "Her kids. Have you seen them?"

"Little girl and a young boy, right?" Sam nodded. "They came in with their grandparents while I was visiting. The boy won't say a word. The little girl cried a lot."

Dean fought through the pain and sat up in bed, swinging his legs over the edge. He couldn't lay in that bed and let her suffer, he had to do something. "Take me to her room," he demanded as he ripped the wires and IV from his arms. 

"Dean, what the hell are you doing? Sit back down, you're going to aggravate your injuries!" 

Dean's eyes flickered towards Sam, "I'm going to do a lot more than just aggravate my injuries if you don't take me to her damn room."

Sam sighed, knowing there was no stopping Dean when he had his mind set on something. "You're an idiot, you know that? You'd think you'd get over your obsessive need to try to save people."

"Take me to her room, Sam. I swear to God, if you don't start on your way to taking me to her, you won't like what I do." Dean knew the threat was empty; he was having a hard time just holding himself upright.

Sam knew the threat was harmless just as Dean did. He closed his eyes, "Come on."

Sam led Dean down several long hallways, and Dean was reminded why he hated hospitals. The smell of sterile death and the sounds of sickness. He almost couldn't bare it. His hatred of the place was multiplied by the way his muscles and bone protested with every step he took. 

"Dean," Sam put his arm out in front of his older brother to prevent him from taking another step forward. "She's in there. I don't know what she looked like before, but it sure as hell isn't what she looks like now. Just brace yourself."

Dean nodded as his stomach turned to a knot in his chest. Sam lowered his arm, and Dean took a step forward. "Stay here," he told his little brother. For once in his life Sam listened and didn't protest.

Dean closed his eyes tightly as he entered the room. What he saw when he opened them took his breath away. That couldn't be the Emily he had met in the little bar. Tiny Emily with thunderstorm eyes and a smile like a beacon in the night. That couldn't be her attached to the breathing machine and strung up with wires, broken under the weight of the mass of blankets piled on top her. He couldn't even grasp one of her hands as the left was set in a hard cast and the right was full of IVs.

With a massive amount of effort on behalf of his aching legs, he sat on the seat by her bedside and touched her arm. There was silence, nothing but the steady sound of the oxygen rushing through the ventilator and the beep, beep of the heart monitor. Dean stared at her, blaming himself for the contusions on her face and the bruises across her chest. He was blaming himself for every broken bone she had suffered and for the pain he could imagine Cass and Ryan suffering. They'd lost enough, he wouldn't let them lose Emily, too.

"Cas, if you're listening," he finally forced out. His voice was hoarse as he held back tears, "I know I shouldn't have left. I shouldn't have walked out on you, but you have to help me. Please. I'm at the Kansas University Hospital, and I need you to be here. I need you, Cas." It had been a long time since Dean had admitted to those words out loud. A very long time. 

And Dean began to wait. He let Sam in the room, and Sam watched on as Dean sat by Emily's bedside, just watching her. Thinking of everything he could have ended for her and her family. If only he hadn't of walked into that bar. If he would have just stayed with Cas. If he hadn't of been so scared of himself. There were so many ifs. 

Time was passing so slowly it seemed to not be moving at all, but the sun had set outside the window, and Dean was losing hope that Castiel would show up. In his complete exhaustion, he was growing impatient. 

"Damn it, where is he?" Dean growled, leaning forward and digging his palms into his eyes.

"Where is who?" Sam asked from where he leaned against the wall across the room.

"No one," Dean lied, reaching out to touch Emily's arm again.

"And by no one you mean Cas?" Sam shifted his weight back to his feet. "Dean," Sam ran his tongue over his teeth and nervously coughed. "Cas told me everything. He was upset, and I think that's putting it lightly."

Dean's shoulders hunched, and he didn't care that his collar bone was sending shooting pains through his entire being. He felt overwhelmed with shame and guilt. Sam knew about him and Cas.

"If you think I haven't seen through that stupid charade you've put on for as long as I can remember, then you must be dumb."

"What?" Dean gasped.

"I figured it out a long time ago. Remember when you were seventeen and dad straight up sucker punched you because you got in some big trouble at school? I wasn't blind to you being gay then, and I'm not blind to you being gay now."

"You told me--" Dean was reeling and unable to finish his sentence.

"I know what I told you. I told you I didn't know why but do you honestly think I didn't hear Dad screaming the things he did? I said it because even when I was thirteen I had more sense than you. I knew you needed time. Didn't think you'd need nearly 23 years, but hey! We're here now."

Dean chewed the inside of his cheek, unable to vocalize anything at all as he stared up at his younger brother.

"Dean," Sam said softly. "I see the way you look at Cas. Man, I've never seen you look at anyone like that. He loves you, so stop being a stubborn ass long enough to let him do that."

Dean opened his mouth and abruptly stopped when the door to Emily's room began to creak open.

"Hello, Dean." Castiel stepped in. He stood in the doorway in all his glory. There was Castiel, who had finally figured out which direction to put a tie on it. Castiel who wore a full suit and thought nothing of it. Castiel is his trench coat. 

"Hey, Cas."

Castiel who Dean loved.


	6. The Past Can Catch Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I've let you go one too many times. I ain't doing it again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not like this chapter, I'll just come right out and say it. The story is in an awkward in between place and I had a hard time writing this part. I promise it'll be back to full potential in the next chapter. You're gonna learn so much.
> 
> Just to make things clear. The part in which Cas was with Emily in the past takes the place of the canon human!Cas arc. Like... none of that stuff happened and this happened instead.

Castiel was nearly halfway across the room when he stopped mid-step. He squared up his shoulders, his lower jaw jutting out ever so slightly. His eyes were trained on Emily's body. "Dean, what have you done?" he half gasped.

Dean pulled himself to his feet, his broken collar bone fighting against his movements. He slowly stepped toward Cas. "You've got to fix her, Cas. She did me a favor, and this is all my fault. She has kids. I swear this wasn't supposed to happen. She was just taking me back to my car. There wasn't supposed to be a wreck," desperation drenched Dean's quivering voice. "I was supposed to just leave and stay gone."

Castiel turned his furious glare towards Dean. "That's what you always do, isn't it, Dean? You just leave. You don't think about the people that suffer the collateral damage you leave in your wake."

Dean retreated a bit. He knew that the bitter tone of Castiel's voice had everything to do with him walking away. "Cas, man, I'm sorry."

Castiel's eyes went cold as he placed his hand on Emily's chest. "Not sorry enough," he told Dean as his grace began to flow through his body into Emily's.

Dean's brow crinkled, and his breathing rate increased. He didn't move. He didn't speak. He waited. 

Castiel pulled his hand away from Emily, and she shifted in the bed. "She will be up soon. Her injuries were extensive, but I believe I've healed them for the most part." Castiel whirled around in a hurry, his trench coat flapped a bit with the quickness of his movement. He was walking toward the door.

Dean wrapped his hand around Castiel's wrist. Cas could have easily pulled away from Dean, even more so now that Dean was severely weakened. 

He didn't move. "Let me go," was all he said.

But Dean tightened his grip. "I've let you go one too many times. I ain't doing it again, Cas. If you forgive me--if you stay-- I won't leave until the day I die, and I'll go out kicking and screaming when that day comes."

Castiel gave Sam a look that seemed to be asking him if he knew. Sam nodded his head. Castiel rotated his body to face Dean's, and they were back to the same position they had been in before Dean had walked away. 

"You give me this one last chance, Cas, and I promise I won't let you down again." Dean began to think of all the ways he could explain why he tried to put Castiel behind him. He knew he could talk until he was blue in the face. Nothing could ever justify everything he had put Cas through. 

Dean didn't get a chance to explain, and Cas didn't get a chance to answer as they were interrupted when Ryan and Cass entered the room.

"Dean!" Cass half cried, plowing into Dean with tears in her eyes. 

His body screamed, and he grunted, "Hey, Cass." He forced himself to respond to her hug despite his pain level. As the blinding pain subsided, he noticed the intense stare off taking place between Ryan and Castiel. There was a split second between the time Dean noticed what was happening and the time that Ryan spit out Castiel's name in complete surprise.

"Castiel?" his eyes were wide, in total shock. Dean was confused. How did this kid know Castiel? He started to piece things together. 

_A man from church._

_A man came into town, and he left with him._

_Momma says I'm named after a real live angel._

"Ryan," Castiel replied stiffly, waiting for the inevitable rush of anger that was about to be unleashed by the thirteen-year-old boy.

"You bitch!" Ryan screamed. "You left us. You were supposed to help, and you left us. Mom and Cass needed you." 

Castiel remained silent, his stiffness had faded into shame. Dean was watching the confrontation play out trying to figure out what exactly the relationship between Castiel and Emily had been.

"You didn't even tell Mom goodbye," tears shimmered in Ryan's eyes. His clenched fists were shaking. 

Cass had buried her face into Dean's side, terrified and confused.

"My," there was a pause, "family. They were in need." Castiel eyes shifted slightly towards Dean as he stumbled over his words. Dean had never witnessed that from Castiel.

Ryan's mouth formed a small 'o' of further surprise. "This guy?" he motioned toward Dean. "This is the guy you left with? What is he? Your brother or something?" 

Castiel shifted his weight around on his feet, searching for a word to describe what Dean was to him. The thought he was having didn't last long as Emily began coughing, rousing in bed. 

"Get a nurse," Dean told Sam firmly, rushing to Emily's side. She was choking on the breathing tube as her lungs were beginning to work on their own.

Sam left the room with a flurry of long hair swinging behind him.

"Ryan," Dean said, looking the pre-teen right in the eye. "You came with your grandparents, right?"

Ryan nodded, all his anger seemed to have evaporated into fear.

"Take Cass to them and tell them your mom is waking up," Dean pushed Cass toward Ryan. "Go!"


	7. Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I feel so much better, but also really weird, and I think I need a drink."

There are times when it takes nothing more than a touch. Nothing more than skin on skin contact for a person to be brought back from the edge. Dean thought about that a lot. He thought about the pivotal moment on the floor of Lucifer's crypt when he had been inches from death at Castiel's hand. With just seconds to spare, and the grab of a wrist and a confession Castiel had been pulled from the brink. We need you. I need you. Dean had spent years underestimating was exactly a touch could do. How one brush of a hand could send out enough sparks to start a fire. Some fires burn slow, and others burn wild and fast. These flames were an inferno.

Dean didn't speak as he rode in the passenger's seat of the Impala, which he had sent Sam to retrieve from the parking lot of the bar. The tension in the vehicle was thick and for a long while no one attempted to cut through it. Dean found himself occasionally glancing into the rearview mirror, his eyes falling on Castiel, who sat begrudgingly in the middle of the back seat. 

"How did you know her, Cas?" Dean had been fighting with those words as they laid on the tip of his tongue. There was no way back now; the words were in the open. They seemed to echo around the expanse of the cab. Dean waited for the response, watching Castiel stare blankly out the window through the rearview.

"I helped her once." The reply was short and stiff. Dean knew there was more to it.

"She knew you were an angel. Her daughter says she tells her that her namesake was an angel. She's named after you."

Castiel remained unmoving on the bench style seating. "Her husband's name was William. He was a kind and devout man, who was very excited for the birth of his second child. He became involved with Bartholomew's faction. He believed he was doing something righteous when he agreed to become a vessel."

"So, is he alive?" Dean glanced nervously toward Sam. Sam always seemed to be comforting in his times of speculation.

Castiel turned his head so that his eyes were in focus in the rearview mirror. "An angel by the of Jeremiah has inhabited William as a vessel. From what I know, William is still alive."

Dean's right hand formed a fist at his side. He stared back at Cas' reflection. "Then we find the son of a bitch and tell him to get a new meat suit. We get William back to Emily, and bada-bing bada-boom everything is well."

Sam cleared his throat from the driver's seat, "I don't know if you remember or not, Dean, but think about how Jimmy's family reacted to him coming home. Even if we miraculously get Jeremiah out of him without killing William, how can we be so sure it won't cause more hard than good?"

"Emily will understand. I hope. We'll figure out something. Emily can have her life back and me and Cas--" Dean stopped before he went too far.

"You and I can what, Dean?" Castiel asked.

"Nothing. We'll talk about it later," he said to the angel in the backseat as Sam pulled up in front of the Bunker. 

Dean struggled as he got out of the car. He was still aching, his collar bone was preventing him from properly moving his arms and neck. 

"Dean," Castiel said softly, his fingertips brushing the back of Dean's arm.

"Yeah?" he turned to face Cas and was greeted with two fingers being pressed gently to his forehead. The searing pain in his body faded, and he sighed upon feeling the sensation of relief.

"I apologize that it took me so long to do that for you."

"It's okay, Cas." Dean's eyes shifted nervously around his surroundings. Sam had disappeared into the Bunker already. Dean assumed it was intentional that he had entered in such a hurry and so quietly. "Let's take a walk, alright?"

Castiel nodded, and the two of them began traveling along the edge of the woods surrounding the Bunker. 

"I have a lot of explaining to do to you," Dean confessed as they climbed the hill.

Castiel didn't deny what Dean had said. He turned his head toward the hunter, raising an eyebrow as he waited for Dean to begin his explanation.

Dean laughed nervously, running his hand over his facial hair, which had grown rather thick with over a week of not shaving. "I'm not the best with words or telling people how I feel," he threw his hands up and let them fall limply back to his side. "And I think that maybe I could win an award for world's biggest asshole."

"I would give you that award myself," Castiel said bluntly, but as Dean looked at him, he could see the angel was attempting a joke.

Dean half smiled, but it faded nearly as soon as it appeared. "Hey, sit with me?" he suggested, hitching up his pants and lowering himself to the ground. He leaned back on the trunk of a large oak tree and watched as Castiel mimicked his movements. "So, I should probably start with a confession. It's more than likely going to be the most obvious thing I've ever said to you since Sam has apparently known for twenty-three years." Dean looked to Cas for reassurance. He was there, his knees bent, and his arms were resting atop them. His blue eyes were sincere as they looked expectantly at Dean. He was just as beautiful as the day Dean had fallen for him. 

Dean must have been staring at Cas much longer than he realized, as Castiel's head tilted toward the side. "Dean?"

His focus came back to earth from whatever heavenly plane that looking at Castiel's beautiful features had sent him to. "Uh, yeah, right." He cleared his throat with a cough, "I've never actually said these words out loud, but I need to. I can't let the things my piece of shit dad did to me for most of my life make me keep pretending." Dean took a long heaving breath, "Alright, here goes nothin'. I'm gay. There we go. I said it, and I feel so much better, but also really weird, and I think I need a drink."

Castiel let out a hearty laugh, "Dean, do you think that your sexuality matters to me? I've always had a place for you as a person in my heart, not you as a man."

Dean couldn't help but look surprised. He hadn't been sure how he expected Castiel react, in truth he hadn't ever thought about Castiel's reaction to him coming out. He had always assumed that the knowledge had been there mutually. He spent at least five minutes just staring at Cas, drinking him up. The curve of his jaw. The shadow of scruff on his chin. Each eyelash. Everything. Right down to the pores in his skin. 

"Perhaps, we could begin again?" Castiel whispered.

"Yeah, Cas. I'd like that. I'd like that a lot."

**Author's Note:**

> Well, my first real Destiel fic. 
> 
> Just to let anyone who may be reading any other stories on my account-- they're all on hold until I can finish this one. My "Supernatural: One Shots" collections will occasionally be updated.
> 
> EDIT 6/15/15: This story began as a ficlet about Dean's prayers to Cas. I honestly never intended for it to go past that. Now, it's a full blown fic with twists and original characters. I'm fairly proud of being able to come up with a, for the most part, coherent story.


End file.
